


Where Dragons Fell, So Did We

by HeliumStar



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, and spoilers, friends that might also be lovers?, friends that say they are friends but are totally lovers?, it's a bit of fluff, so don't read if you don't want war eternal spoiled, spoliers for living world season 4, there are some emotions going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeliumStar/pseuds/HeliumStar
Summary: Logan and Rytlock have been through a lot together. They've faced danger before. They've faced dragons. They've even faced Kralkatorrik before. But this time it's different. This time they really could lose it all.Warning: Contains spoilers for Living World Season 4! Do not read if you do not want spoilers for the season finale!





	Where Dragons Fell, So Did We

**Author's Note:**

> There are like 5 Rytlock x Logan (Rytlogan?) works on AO3 and I'm here to change that. 
> 
> I might actually go down with this ship, as I have a whole conspiracy theory brewing in my head including dragons and dragon minions and mesmers and things that do not make sense! ArenaNet! It doesn't make sense! I need answers!
> 
> WARNING: (SERIOUSLY THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING) This contains spoilers for Living World Season 4! Do not continue if you don't wait the final episode spoiled!

“It ain’t gonna be easy,” Rytlock grunts. 

Logan flashes him a tired but understanding smile. “When have things ever been easy for us?” he asks.

The large charr huffs. “Point taken,” he mutters. Rytlock’s snout twitches and he shakes his head as if there’s a bad smell in the air. 

Logan feels it too. The whole island feels wrong; artificial and filled to the brim with all kinds of magic and energies. The air almost feels electric, and sometimes in some places, it’s so bad that Logan feels his hair stand on end. Does Rytlock look a bit fluffier than usual, or is it just Logan’s imagination?

“There’s no use standing around. Either we kill that thing, or it kills us. All of us.” Logan turns and addresses the soldiers gathered behind him. “We move south. Into the jungle to capture and fortify a good point of operation.”

“Those who are coming with us; gear up and mount up. We move out of here as soon as possible,” Rytlock adds, stepping forward as he speaks. His long whiskers brush against Logan’s left pauldron.

The soldiers quickly scramble to their stations or rush off to follow the orders given, leaving the Marshall and the Tribune standing by themselves amidst the growing chaos.

Despite standing less than an arm’s length away, perhaps a little too close, Logan turns and faces Rytlock. He takes a deep breath and smiles, another tired but this time more genuine smile. “Just like old times, ey?” he asks. 

Rytlock looks at him and nods. “Just don’t run off on us again, not sure I would forgive you this time around,” he mutters.

Logan smile fades, but only slightly. “I will never run from you again,” he says, his voice unusually tender.

“Bah, don’t get all gooey on me now, Logan. We’ve got a dragon to kill. Once and for all.”

With an agreeing nod, Logan turns on his heels and starts marching towards the south gate, Rytlock following suit. “We're heading out!” Logan calls. “Let’s go!”

Rytlock watches his partner silently as they head towards the gate. Logan appears all stoic and strong, but there’s something off about him and the way he moves. It’s like fear has an eye on him, and Logan’s trying too hard not to let it get to him. 

Is it because they’re facing an elder dragon? Rytlock wonders. Is it because they’re heading into the unknown? Or because all odds are stacked against them? But they have faced odds like this before. Half of their lives have been treading through unknown ground, and this certainly isn’t the first elder dragon they fight.

Then again, Logan and Rytlock have stood before Kralkatorrik before, and that had ended in catastrophe. If Rytlock was going to be completely honest, he too is a bit anxious about this whole thing. Not the fighting dragons part, and not even the dying part, but the part where literally the entire world is at stake.

One look from Logan tells Rytlock that that is exactly what worries Logan too. Their gazes are all but locked together until they reach the gate. Rytlock nods slowly, as if he’s trying to tell Logan that he’s ready.

They mount their raptors and wait a short moment for the rest of the company to do the same. 

“Move out!” Logan says. “Keep your eyes out for trouble. Who knows what devilry we’re going to find.” He turns in his saddle as if to check and see if Rytlock is following, which he is. “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready for a long time now,” Rytlock mumbles. “Now more than ever.”

Logan nods, another smile growing on his face. The smile suits him, confident but gentle. Then he turns to face the jungle again. “Alright! We march south!” He orders, digging his heels into the sides of his raptor, spurring it forward. 

-xox-

The jungle looms above them, and the further into it they go, the more Logan seems to shrink in his saddle. He’s on edge, his head swiveling back and forth as he watches the trees, the bushes and the path ahead. 

Then there are suddenly branded in their way. Branded, and pale specters that look like animals. They’re faded and translucent, but their claws and paws still hurt.

Logan leaps off his mount, sword and shield at the ready. Rytlock is right beside him, with the rest of the company behind them. Together they tear into the enemy; smashing, cutting, clawing and crushing specters and branded alike.

Rytlock doesn’t hold back. He lets his rage for these blasted creatures leak out with every motion and every swing of his sword. 

Beside him, Logan paints the air blue, like sapphire, and the branded struggle to beat their way through his magic shield. Rytlock doesn’t have time to admire the pretty colors and shiny magic Logan produces, and he doesn’t waste his precious time wondering if the magic will hold or not.

He knows that Logan has his back, and he knows for a fact that he has Logan’s.

When the last enemy falls, they group up on the path again, making a quick headcount before they mount back up and continue. Although Logan seems a little less tense, his face is still filled with concern.

“All these trees…” he mumbles, peering up at a particularly claw-shaped branch. “They remind me of Maguuma.” He thinks for a moment as they ride. “I don’t like it.”

Rytlock glances over at the Pact Marshall and huffs. “What did I say about going soft?” he asks. 

“The Mordrem almost killed me!” Logan retorts, giving a soft gasp. “And I believe _soft_ and _gooey_ are two different things.”

Chuckling, Rytlock eggs his raptor on to catch up with Logan's. He coos a few mocking words at him, which Logan promptly shoots down with an embarrassed glare and foolish mumbling. Rytlock loves it. He could walk around mocking Logan all day. Especially if Logan going to be fussy about it.

“It’s a shame you were home napping when we took down the jungle dragon,” Rytlock says when they descend a steep hill. “That whole mind game thing is very human. Figured you would have known a thing or two about that.”

Logan rolls his eyes and sighs so loudly one of the soldiers in the back of the group lets out an amused snort. “I’m never going to live that down,” Logan mutters. “I’m never going to live any of my dragon-encounters down.”

“From how I see it, I’m one whole elder dragon up on you,” Rytlock says. “Which makes me the experts out of the two of us.” He grins at Logan and stretches in his saddle, sitting tall and proud. 

“Don’t get started,” Logan warns him. “If you’re going to be insufferable about this I’ll turn my raptor around and head right back to the airship.”

“You like it,” Rytlock chuckles.

Logan sighs, impossibly louder than before. “I do,” he admits as they near the second holographic bridge. “Halfway there.”

-xox-

Their banter continues as they move through the jungle. It’s surprisingly lighthearted considering the situation, and at times it could even be mistaken for affectionate.

Rytlock thinks to himself that this isn’t a time or place for affection. The constant threat and the prickly air isn’t exactly getting him in a mood to dote on anyone. Not even Logan.

When they do reach the position their scouts have marked on the map and cleared out any immediate threats and foes, they get to work establishing their foothold. Before they know it the camp is swarming with mist wardens, and they’re as unsettling and strange as the specters outside the newly erected walls of the camp.

Logan blinks when he spots a familiar face. It's one that he’s seen before but not in person. He has only ever seen Gwen Thackeray in paintings, and her standing there before him is more than a little strange.

Gwen, on the other hand, seems to recognize him just fine. “Logan,” she says. Her voice sounds shrouded and ghostly, and it makes Logan shudder. “And…” Gwen’s gaze falls on Rytlock. “You.” She does not sound very pleased.

“This is Rytlock,” Logan explains, stepping closer to the charr and putting a hand on his arm in an awkward but somewhat supportive manner. “Rytlock, this is-”

“I know who she is,” Rytlock mutters, looking just as displeased to see Gwen as she is to see him. 

“Just…” she sighs. “Call me Gwen.” 

Logan gulps and looks between his ghostly ancestor and the charr beside him. He doubts they will get along, and he wonders if there are going to be problems. No, he thinks, this isn’t the time for long and deeply buried spite and grudges to unfold.

His fingers tighten slightly around Rytlock’s arm, and the charr slowly and reluctantly relaxes. “I won’t cause trouble is she won’t,” he says, and even though his voice is dripping with annoyance Logan knows that he is sincere.

“I am not here to fight charr,” Gwen says. “I’m here to help fight the elder dragon.”

“That’s all we want,” Logan says.

Gwen nods slowly and eyes him, then Rytlock. “So… the two of you are friends?” she asks. It’s an attempt to be civil, and Logan appreciates it although it’s awkward and it really is not the best time for family meetings and catching up.

Rytlock shifts slightly, tensing back up. He turns to Logan with an exasperated sigh. “If you need me to go back to the Pact camp-”

“No,” Logan stops him. He turns to the spectre with a determined look on his face. “We’re partners. Where he goes, I go. And we’ve got bigger things to worry about than old grudges.”

Gwen arches an eyebrow; it’s pale and translucent much like the rest of her. Her misty appearance makes it difficult to make out any expressions, and Logan struggles to figure out if she’s frowning or scowling at him.

“You trust him with your life?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Logan shuffles closer to the charr and straightens up in what he hopes is a strong and confident stance. “I do,” he says. 

Gwen doesn’t say much else. She nods and turns her focus onto the camp, its preparations, and their plan of attack.

Relieved, but also suddenly more grounded than before, Logan relaxes. His hand is still resting on Rytlock’s arm.

-

The downtime is the worst. When all they can do is sit and listen to the dragon squirm beneath them. When the ground shakes, and the trees around them sway so violently it looks as if they’re about to come crashing down on them.

Rytlock busies himself with whatever he can. He knows that his position is within the camp, but there is nothing to actually do in the camp. He barks orders, directs people to someone that will direct them to where they should actually be, and he sits and rolls his paws.

It doesn’t help that Logan is pacing back and forth, running left and right as he pretends to be busy. His strange trot makes Rytlock dizzy. The Tribune watches, his irritation growing until he can’t stand it anymore.

“Hey,” he mutters when Logan passes him for what feels like the thousand time. “Are you digging a ditch? Would you stand still for a minute, you’re making me nervous.”

Logan stops and looks at Rytlock, his arms clasped sternly behind his back and his back as straight as a pole. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s the nerves. Is it just me, or did that rock just move?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s part of ol’ Kralk,” Rytlock says. “Or it’s magic. Tell me what isn’t magic these days… here of all places.”

Humming, Logan stands still for a few moments and just as Rytlock thinks that he is about to start running laps around the camp again, he walks over and sits down next to Rytlock. His armor clunks when he seats himself on the log Rytlock’s made himself comfortable on. With a sigh of relief, Logan removes his helmet and exposes his face and silky hair to the jungle heat.

“Aren’t you boiling in that thing?” Rytlock asks.

“Melting,” Logan says with a nod. “How are you not keeled over yet? You’re covered with fur.”

Rytlock shrugs. “Used to it. I’m just glad I’m not with those Crystal folks. Heard they’re struggling more with wildfire than branded.” He shakes his head. “If it weren’t for the impending doom, this could be mistaken for a vacation.”

That draws a dry laugh from Logan, that puts his helmet down and removes his gauntlets and the gloves beneath. “Some vacation,” he says. “Where’s the ocean view? My complimentary drink?”

“Hey now. I mention vacation and you’re stripping down? This isn’t a beach resort.”

“Rytlock. I’m going to drop from a heatstroke. I think a few minutes without my helmet and my gloves won’t harm.” He smiles at Rytlock, then himself and leans against the charr, relaxing if only for a short time. 

They sit silently for some time; Logan leaned up against Rytlock and Rytlock having nothing to complain about while he does. It’s a peaceful moment in an otherwise stressful situation, and they both sorely need it.

Then Logan opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He quickly presses his lips together but soon opens his mouth again. “If we make it out of this mess, and the world still stands… what are you going to do?” he asks.

Shrugging, as much as he can with Logan’s head leaned on his arm, Rytlock gives whatever answer he can give. “I’m going with you, of course.” The answer is a little quicker, and a little more direct than Logan anticipated. “What?” Rytlock snorts. “You thinking of running off without me?”

“No,” Logan says. “No, I’d never-” he stops himself and puts on the goofy smile that Rytlock can’t stop staring at. “I’d like it if we stayed together. Gods know how many times we should have stuck together in the past but didn’t.”

Rytlock agrees. “Too many,” he mutters. “But I guess that doesn’t really matter now. You’re here. I’m here. And so is what might be the end of the world.”

There is another pause when Logan contemplates what to say or do next. “Honestly?” he mumbles, looking out towards the jungle. “If the world ended right now… I think I might be able to say that I was at peace.”

“Yeah,” Rytlock murmurs. “Maybe so.”

Another few minutes pass, and when another shipment rolls into camp, Logan gets back up and puts his equipment back on. He turns to face Rytlock, his face now partly concealed under the deep v-shape on the front of the helmet. His lips are curled into a soft smile.

“Things are going to pick up around here,” he says. “I feel it. Something is going to happen soon.”

“Let’s hope it’s good things,” Rytlock rises from the bench. “And if it’s not, let’s hope it’s quick.”

Logan chuckles softly. “Not too quick, I hope,” he says. “If we’re still alive by nightfall, let’s have another sit-down, okay?”

“You better be there,” Rytlock says.

Nodding, Logan flashes Rytlock another smile. “So do you.”

-

“We can’t get to him!” Rytlock snarls, glaring up at the crystalized beast and flexing his paws. His claws itch to tear into the dragon or anything purple to soothe his anger. “After all this, he’s just going to retreat into his shell and… what? Wait until we give up? Or die of old age?”

Logan grabs him by the wrist. “Rytlock, calm down,” he says. “We’ll figure something out. The Commander will-”

“The Commander is up there, doing spirits know what!” Rytlock gestures up towards the cliff that looms above them. “There’s no way for them, or us to do anything while Kralkatorrik is cowering under a layer of that… that stuff!”

“You need to calm yourself,” Logan says firmly. “It’s a setback, and we should be used to those by now. Especially when it comes to dragons.” He shakes his head and loosens his grip on Rytlock’s wrist. “I don’t want you doing anything reckless. We both know that that always lands you, _us,_ in even more trouble.”

Rytlock hisses, baring his teeth down at the human. “Why you-”

“Are right,” Logan interrupts him. “You hate to admit it, but that’s how it is.” He looks at Rytlock with such determination that he could have been mistaken for a charr. A small one, at least, Rytlock thinks. A runt, but a charr nonetheless.

“Burn me…” He mutters, trying to settle down. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Logan lets him go and takes a step back. “We await orders,” he says. “Until then, there are plenty of branded around to fight.”

As much as Rytlock doesn’t like it when Logan is right, he really likes it when Logan says something that could have come out of his own mouth. And smashing branded does sound good.

“Fine!” He growls. “But I get the big ones!" 

“That’s fine by me,” Logan says with a nod.

And fight branded they do. It really takes Logan back, for better or worse, to fight creatures encased in purple beside Rytlock. For a moment he remembers wielding a hammer, with slippery sand under his boots and the scorching sun above. But it’s different now, although Rytlock is almost the same. He likes Rytlock a lot more now than he did back then, even though he secretly did think that the charr was a friend at the time he had a hard time expressing that. Now when they’re closer and they are both brave enough to stay instead of run, everything is different.

Logan swings his sword, smashing a crystal limb and shattering the rest of the creature with a bash of his shield. He thinks to himself; this is how it should have been a long time ago.

Rytlock sweeps the area like a whirlwind of blades and fur. He leaps into the mists only to appear again several yards away, in another cluster of branded that he tears into and rips apart. Crystals shatter beneath his sword and shard explode in all directions as he disappears again and reappears behind an unsuspecting creature.

It feels good to destroy the dragon’s minions. Feels good to watch them crumble when they perish, leaving nothing but a pile of glowing dust on the ground. It feels good to have Logan there with him, fighting beside him and watching his back. It feels good watching Logan’s back, knowing that he is not running away.

-

For two days they sit in the shadow of the elder dragon, casting concerned glances at the mountain that sometimes moves. Everyone is constantly on edge, and no one knows when or if they’ll ever be able to unwind.

By the dusk of the second day, most soldiers are ready to drop from exhaustion. Tents are erected for people to rest or sleep, but few dare to close their eyes, and even fewer can relax.

Rytlock is one of the latter. He lies in his tent, curled up on a lumpy bundle that is a sad excuse for a mattress. He makes himself as comfortable as he can as he waits for sleep to come, but sleep eludes him despite his eyelids feeling so heavy that he can barely keep his eyes open.

And each time the ground shudders beneath him, he jumps up only to realize that the dragon is also twisting and turning.

He lies there and stares up at a dirty spot on the thick fabric of the tent, and then turns his head and look at the lantern sitting a few feet away on the ground. It glows with an electric blue light, sparks or crystals or some magic bullshit keeping the thing eternally lit. It illuminates the tent just enough for him to make out the poles keeping the tent standing and where the tent’s entrance lies.

Perhaps it would be easier to sleep with the light off? Maybe it wasn’t as soothing to leave it on as he had originally thought?

Pulling himself upright, Rytlock sits up and reaches for the lantern to smother the magic light, but a soft voice brings his paw to a stop.

“Rytlock? Are you awake?” It’s Logan.

Rytlock grunts silently. “What is it?” he asks. “Did anything happen?”

“No, not yet,” comes the soft answer. “May I come in?”

Without answering, Rytlock slowly leans forward and pulls the tent flap aside, revealing the Pact Marshall standing outside the tent with a weary look on his face. The charr nods, gesturing vaguely to the inside of the tent, and Logan steps inside and lets the tent’s entrance fall closed behind him.

Logan is not dressed in his shiny armor, nor the fancy robes Rytlock has seen him wear when he’s not armed. Instead, he wears a soft white-ish cotton shirt and a pair of loosely fitting trousers that barely reach his ankles. He scratches his head and looks around the tent. “I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles. “Too much on my mind, I guess.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Rytlock agrees. “Kinda makes me long for a drink, or ten.”

Logan nods solemnly.

There is a short pause, then charr shuffles a foot or two to the side, making room on his pitiful cot for the human to join him.

Grateful, Logan sits down next to him letting out a humorless chuckle. “Looks like the Tribune got the better bed,” he says with a tired smile.

“Yours is worse?” Rytlock snorts. “What are they making you sleep on? Nails?”

“You’re probably not far off,” Logan sighs.

Rytlock shakes his head. “Well,” he mutters. “There’s room here if you curl up and don’t mind the tail.”

“It’s… fine,” Logan says, looking at Rytlock. “This is perfect, thank you.” He puts his hand on Rytlock’s arm like he so often does. 

Rytlock’s figured out that that’s when Logan does when he’s trying to show affection, or he’s extra sentimental. While Rytlock isn’t a big fan of being all touchy-feely, he’s learned to live with it, and it does feel pretty great to have Logan run his weird human hands over his fur. But that’s another thing that Rytlock hates to admit.

They turn the magic light off and lie down to get some rest. Rytlock settles on the cot, curled around Logan, and Logan with his hands tangled in Rytlock’s soft fur, gently petting, brushing and raking his fingers through it.

For a while, everything else is forgotten. The fighting, the dragon, and the danger feel so far away from their tiny cocoon of safety and warmth.

It doesn’t take long before Rytlock is asleep. The exhaustion, the silent company, and the soothing caresses quickly lull him to sleep.

Logan lies awake, continuing to fondly stroke the charr’s fur and listening to Rytlock’s soft purrs.

He knows that if he ever mentioned to anyone that the great Tribune Brimstone purrs when you pet him, Rytlock would probably kill him, but it’s always a tempting comeback to Rytlock’s constant claims that Logan is the who is being soft.

Rytlock’s tail swats him across his legs, flicking him just hard enough for Logan to let out a silent ‘ouch’. 

-

It grows more still than it has en days. Everyone feels it. The air grows cold, and the ground beneath them is eerily still. 

“Dead?” Logan asks. “It’s dead?” He doesn’t dare to hope.

“Not yet,” Gorrik says, pushing his glasses further up on his nose as he swipes back and forth in the air, a holographic chart projected into the air before him. 

Taimi’s voice echoes over their communication device. “His body is dead,” she says. “But there is still a power source inside him. The Commander is looking to fight him from the inside!”

“The inside!” Logan sputters. “Are they insane?! They’re going to go inside the elder dragon?” He looks down at Gorrik, that looks more intrigued than concern, although the concern is very deep. “They can’t do that! What if-...”

“There’s no other way!” Taimi insists.

Logan smothers a hand over his face, shaking his head and nearly collapsing where he stands. “No. They’re not all going in, are they? If Rytlock’s going in, I need to-”

“I’m not going in, idiot,” Rytlock’s voice suddenly rasps out through the speakers. 

“Rytlock!” Logan gasps. “What’s going on? What is happening down there?”

“The Commander’s going in with Aurene. The rest of us are gonna try and hold off the branded, to make sure Kralkatorrik doesn’t suddenly spring back to life.”

Logan nods, and he realizes that he’s bent down and pushed Gorrik aside. He doesn’t care, and he looks at the map displayed on the holographic screen. “I can get to you,” he says, already plotting out which path to take to make it to the small group. “I can be there soon to help.”

“You’re needed up there,” Rytlock says. “Don’t you have a Pact to lead?” He sounds amused, and Logan seethes with frustration and worry. “I’ll be fine. It’s just branded.”

“You are standing before the dragon’s maw!” Logan shouts at the screen. “If that thing wakes back up, you are going to be the first one to-”

“Will the two of you shut up?” Taimi interrupts. “Stop fighting! Just tell each other your feelings and be done with it like the rest of us!”

Gorrik clears his throat and Logan takes a step back, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. It’s Rytlock that breaks the awkward silence. “Listen here, kid, you-”

“Branded incoming!”

“Bah! I don’t have time for this!” Rytlock growls. “Listen, Logan. You better be alive and alright when I get back up there.”

Logan nods, even though he’s there alone with Gorrik. “Stay in one piece, please.”

“The same goes for you.”

“Rytlock!” Zafirah hisses. “Branded!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rytlock mutters. 

And then he is gone, and Logan barely hears what Gorrik and Taimi talk about, being too worried and restless to try and decipher any of the asuran gibberish they’re sputtering out. 

Above ground, the branded are scattering, making way for the Pact Soldiers, confused and disoriented without the dragon’s guidance. They roam around aimlessly rather than a directed fashion, and that makes it fairly easy to pick them off.

Logan considers remaining with Gorrik, that is positioned high on a cliff where he has a good view of the field below, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he descends down into the battle to fight alongside the Pact.

Then after what feels like hours of fighting, and waiting, a roar booms through the air, startling soldiers and creatures alike. The branded instantly scatter, fleeing or keeling over as the dragon’s body explodes into a bright light. 

The roaring is replaced by singing, the Order of the Crystal Bloom rejoicing with cheer and song. It’s deafening and beautiful.

It’s done, Logan thinks. They did it. The dragon is dead.

-

It’s never felt so good to be reunited with Rytlock. Logan has lost count of how many times he’s parted ways with the charr, thinking it’s the last time they see one another. But this might have been the only time that Logan had been almost certain that they’d both end up in the mists.

When they see each other again, it’s by the airship where soldiers, friends, and family, are reunited left and right. Logan has to push his way through the crowd of celebrating pact members, and once he stands before the charr, _his_ charr, neither of them know what to do.

It’s a relief to see Logan, and Rytlock feels that something has to be done. He’s witnessed too many sappy reunions of lover soldiers crashing together with their faces mushed together, and wonders if that’s what Logan expects of him. 

“We did it,” Logan says, almost breathless. “We really did it.” His smile is brilliant and wide.

“We sure did,” Rytlock says. “It looked bad, but we pulled through.”

Logan shakes his head. “Next time you’re going to try and sneak up on a dragon and punch is in the jaw; please bring me with you. I think my hairs were turning grey while I was waiting to hear from you.”

“Your hair is fine,” Rytlock huffs. “But I’m glad I made it out of there.”

“So am I.” Logan beams at him and sucks in a deep breath of fresh air. “I am so glad that you made it out of there,” he says. “So glad I could kiss you, but I’m not sure how that would work.”

Rytlock snarls at him. “You wouldn’t dare, human.”

Laughing, Logan shakes his head. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t,” he says. “Or maybe I would. We did just kill another elder dragon. I don’t know.” He settles down again, his shoulders slowly stop shaking but his smile remains gleefully pleased. 

The charr groans slightly, and awkwardly averts his eyes. “Well… for what it’s worth, I’m really glad to see you too, Logan.” He extends his arm and puts one of his paws on Logan’s shoulder, attempting to mimic Logan’s caring gesture. “Soft and gooey and all.”

“Is that a smile I see?” Logan asks. “I didn’t think Tribunes were allowed to smile.”

“Bite me, human,” Rytlock growls softly, and gently shake Logan’s shoulder. 

They both chuckle and Logan is the first to silence down and open his mouth to say something else. Something more. He looks serious, as if what he’s about to say next is very important. “Rytlock, I-”

“There you two are!” Taimi comes shuffling, maneuvering through the crowd. “You two done confessing? Or are you two going to do that on the ship? You know there aren't any rooms on the ship, right?”

“No one’s confessing anything,” Rytlock mutters. “We’re glad to see each other alive, that’s all.”

Taimi arches an eyebrow at them and crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah, because the Pact Marshall looks_ just happy_ to see you,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. She grins at Rytlock. “Anyway, I thought you’d like to know that there are celebratory drinks on the ship. The norn kind.”

That get’s the Tribune going. “I’ve needed a drink for almost a week. Where do I board?”

“Over there, and soon. Braham’s already gotten started,” Taimi says, starting to head towards the ship. 

Logan and Rytlock follow, walking slowly to match her pace. “Back to Tyria, then?” Logan says. “You mentioned a vacation. I think I need one,” he says, looking at Rytlock. 

“You and me both, partner,” Rytlock says with a nod. 

“I go where you go, remember?”

“I remember, do you?”

Logan laughs and swings his arm out, grabbing hold of Rytlock’s paw and holding it. “I wouldn’t dream about forgetting that,” he murmurs. 

“Sap,” Rytlock grunts. 

“You like it.”

“I hate that I like it.”

Taimi groans. “You two are making me sick.”

  



End file.
